


For Research Purposes Only

by cthchewy



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: 5+1 Things, M/M, The thirst is real, how to defeat gay panic with SCIENCE, just two dudes sitting in a hot tub zero feet apart because they're very gay, that sauna scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28006506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cthchewy/pseuds/cthchewy
Summary: A scientific analysis of Dimitri’s sexual attractiveness and how to build an immunity to it via exposure therapy in the form of controlled doses of skinship.Or, “Five Times Claude Thirsted for Dimitri, and One Time Dimitri Thirsted Back”Or, “Gay Panic: The Fic”
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 86
Kudos: 223





	1. The Sauna

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deviljhojho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deviljhojho/gifts).



> I don't know the meaning of drabble. Oops? Or maybe you can think of it as 6 drabbles, haha...

The first time Claude notices Dimitri’s hotness is during their House Leaders (and Professor Byleth) Sauna Bonding Time. Of course he had noticed, in a rather clinical manner, that Dimitri wasn’t hard on the eyes, but that’s true for many people around the monastery. His strength has always been a good quality, but again, many others are strong too. Dimitri is supposed to be cute like a puppy with his fluffy blond hair and earnest exclamations of “I still have much to learn!” He isn’t allowed to be _hot_.

Oh, and not hot as in “sweating profusely and about to pass out from heat exhaustion”, which he absolutely is after only a few minutes, but hot as in “you could literally do laundry on those washboard abs, and I am attracted to that”.

Claude had been extolling the virtues of his own physique to the twin unimpressed stares of Edelgard and the professor. “I’ve actually got a pretty decent body,” he’d said with a flirtatious wink. He isn’t seriously trying to get with anyone, but there’s just something about Professor Byleth’s blank face that makes him want to do outrageously inappropriate things to see if he can get a reaction. As a bonus, his fellow house leaders are both such prudes. Of course he has to flirt when surrounded by three of the most romantically inept people in the whole academy!

When he turns to see what Dimitri’s response is, he instead gets an eyeful of the most chiseled man to ever exist. Dimitri is cut like a marble statue. Or a cheese grater. Forget laundry, you could probably grate cheese on those abs. The muscle definition on this guy is _insane_. His _proportions_ are insane – broad shoulders tapering down to an itty bitty waist… And he’s still growing, too. Dimitri has definitely gotten both taller and broader since the beginning of the year. Who knows how big he’ll eventually get?

There are scars along his hands and arms, which is not a surprise since it’s obvious that he does a lot of fighting. What’s surprising is that some of the marks look like burns, and they seem to extend quite far up, past his shoulders and perhaps down his back as well. It gives him a rugged appeal that’s very different from his usual fairytale prince mask, and that has Claude curious to see more. But Dimitri, ever self-conscious, keeps his back to the wall and grips tightly to the towel around his waist.

“Haha… Wow, Dimitri. I had no idea you were one of those guys who looks skinnier in clothes,” Claude says. At least he manages to spin it like he’s jealous and not ~~horny~~ impressed.

Dimitri doesn’t get flustered as he usually does when receiving compliments because he’s already looking sickly from the heat. Then they discover that the door to the sauna has been barred from the outside, so there’s _that_ whole adventure. The, uh, we’re-lucky-Professor-Byleth-bathes-with-a-sword adventure involving completely blasting through the door and probably leaving the sauna out of order for the next month or so. Yeah, that.

Their sauna adventure comes to a close, but now that he knows what’s under the prince’s high collar, it’s only the beginning of Claude’s troubles.


	2. The Greenhouse

Claude doesn’t have a crush, okay? He’s been _poisoned_.

Dimitri is a poison. Not the super lethal kind that will kill a wyvern with one drop, but the milder variety. The kind you can build an immunity to if you just get enough exposure. Even if he never achieves full immunity, the process is at least helpful for identification purposes. Claude is currently able to recognize the symptoms of all the most commonly used Almyran toxins in himself and has been working on a variety of new substances since he arrived in Fodlan. The process of self-administering small, careful doses of poison over a period of time has saved his life many times over.

The primary symptoms of Dimitri exposure are increased heart rate, perspiration, and shortness of breath. Secondary symptoms resulting from these include redness, decreased mental function, and flustered speech patterns. Given that house leaders often have to coordinate with each other, this is absolutely disastrous to the image he’s trying to project of the cool, suave ‘Leader Man’ of the Golden Deer.

He needs to seek out more Dimitri exposure to hasten the immunity-building process.

Claude is in the greenhouse, tending to his crop of cute poisonous babies while mentally mapping out ways to “accidentally” bump into Dimitri, when – who would have guessed? – Dimitri appears.

Aside from the areas officially managed by the monastery staff, there are small plots that students can rent out for their own needs. Claude’s is a little square, completely cordoned off by a short fence and with signposts staked on all four sides. With a few small variations on the wording and doodles, they essentially say:

☠️WARNING POISON DO NOT TOUCH☠️

If you ignore this warning and die, it’s not my fault. I told you so.

If you steal my babies to murder someone, I will hunt you down and do worse.

~Love, Claude 💛🦌🏹

The complete opposite of this is the Blue Lions communal garden patch, which is an orderly thing filled with sunshiny flowers and vegetables. It’s mostly run by Dedue and Annette, and it’s Annette’s voice that Claude hears announcing Dimitri’s presence.

“Just in time! Thanks, Your Highness!”

Claude peeks through a dense veil of vegetation to see that Dimitri has brought in a wheelbarrow full of pegasus dung. Annette digs in with her trowel and begins to mix some of the fertilizer into a heap of soil. Beside her, Dedue is handling seedlings with great care. He pauses in his work to grace Dimitri with a small smile. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“Happy to help!” Dimitri stands tall and proud, beaming with the joy of a hard day’s work. There’s a light sheen of sweat on his brow, and he’s stripped out of his uniform jacket, leaving on only a well-worn undershirt more suited for common labor.

See? He’s a puppy. His tail’s practically wagging after receiving such little praise. There’s nothing sexy about puppies, Claude berates himself. Now to prove it, scientifically.

Claude pokes his head through the leaves. “Hey! Fancy seeing you guys here.”

Annette shrieks and flings her trowel. It flies in a beautiful arch, landing somewhere in the brush beyond.

“…Whoops. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Why are you always creeping around?!”

“Don’t you mean… creepity creeping?”

Annette’s cheeks puff up in indignation, even as Dimitri chuckles and says, “So you’re a fan of that tune as well, Claude? It’s very catchy, isn’t it.” In fact, she turns redder than the noa fruits in the trees behind her, and any more teasing is likely to result in them (only Claude, really) getting banned forevermore from Mercedes’ cookie tasting parties.

Trusty, reliable Dedue is the one who defuses the situation. “Ahem. May we help you?”

“Just wondering if you had any fertilizer to spare, is all,” Claude says with a helpless shrug. “I couldn’t help but see our prince charming over here bringing in what looks to be the monastery’s entire stock…”

“Oh!” Dimitri startles, turning sheepish. “Is it-- is it too much? I wasn’t sure how much was needed.”

The rest of them look at him in varying degrees of ‘Ah, he’s hopeless’. The pegasus dung is piled high in the wheelbarrow, nearly spilling over. And the wheelbarrow itself is probably the largest size available in storage. There’s enough dried magical flying horse dung to feed half the greenhouse. Perhaps even the _whole_ greenhouse. After all, those magical shits are potent.

Annette crosses her arms. “Hmph. Maybe we’ll share if you get my trowel back.”

That’s fair. It was kind of his fault for startling her, after all. “Aye-aye!” Claude says with a wink and a salute. He heads for where he had seen the tool fly, hoping it had actually rolled out onto the path. No such luck.

When a cursory glance doesn’t reveal anything, Claude looks toward the direction of the overgrown jungle of the only garden patch to rival his own in creepity creepiness: Bernie’s carnivorous plant collection. None but the reclusive Mother of Monsters herself may venture in without getting chomped.

Claude stops before the flesh-eaters. There are plants with all manner of spikes and sticky traps in varying gemstone shades of red and green. They’ve grown to enormous sizes from receiving all of Bernadetta’s love and care (and likely also Hubert’s secret dark magic experiments). A rat’s tail is hanging out of one of the pitchers, and that’s not even the worst.

In the center of it all is the largest flytrap Claude – or anyone, probably – has ever seen. It stands taller than the tallest of men. The claspers on that thing could close over a person’s head. Its name is Oddbjørn, which it shares with the armored bear stuffies commonly sold as gifts. This is a fact he learned from Professor Byleth, the one who gifted the plant to Bernie at the beginning of the school year. It had been a wee thing then, Professor Byleth had said with the tiniest frown. The hand motions the professor made led Claude to believe Oddbjørn had once been palm-sized.

That is no longer the case. And sure enough, there’s a glint of metal right in the midst of its stalks.

Claude is thinking of ways to retrieve the trowel (Extra long lance? Magnet on a fishing pole? Hook attached to an elaborate pulley system?) when Dimitri strolls up. “Ah, I think I see it,” he says, and then walks right in before Claude can shout a warning.

The plants immediately sense prey. Dimitri’s passage is followed by a frenzy of action. Acid spray, whipping vine-tentacles, and flytraps snapping like they’re bear traps. Claude is frozen in horror, hand outstretched, mind turning like the elaborate pulley system he’d been engineering to retrieve the trowel and that is now being mentally repurposed to save Dimitri.

But then, out of the carnage… A hand is raised in triumph, gardening implement in its grasp!

Dimitri stumbles out of the foliage with a somewhat dazed look on his face. His shirt is ripped in multiple places and stained with splotches of plant digestive juices. He practically barrels into Claude, who puts a hand on the disheveled man’s chest to steady them both.

Claude’s hand lands right over a particularly large gash, right on the bare skin of his not-crush’s pecs of steel.

“Thank you, Claude. Let me just get my bearings…” Dimitri sounds slightly out of breath. The puffs of warm air as he’s speaking tickle the shell of Claude’s ear.

“Thank _you_ for doing all the work for me!” Claude’s voice comes out perfectly fine. It’s not strained at all. Nope. Just fine. He’s handling this dose of Dimitri-poison very well. Everything is going according to plan, nothing to see here.

Dimitri is very warm, though. The skin underneath Claude’s palm is practically radiating heat. He would give the _best_ winter cuddles. And his voice is warm, and his laughter is warm, and the way his eyes crinkle up as he pulls back to share a secretive glance like they’re having a _moment_ is _…_

Oh no, they’re having a _moment_.

Claude can feel his own heartbeat ramping up. The heat crawls from his hand all the way up to his face. The first symptoms of a toxic level of Dimitri exposure are beginning to appear! Abort mission! Abort, abort!

He shoves all the way back, breaking off contact. Claude pretends to look at the nonexistent watch on his bare wrist. “Oh, would you look at the time? I forgot I had things to do!”

He hoofs it out of the greenhouse, leaving behind a very confused Dimitri.

“Wait, what about your fertilizer?”


	3. The Library

It’s easy enough to avoid a guy like Dimitri, who has a very regular schedule most days. He’s the kind of good student who’s always early for lessons and does extra sparring practice for hours after class ends. That’s not to say those are the only things he does, but for the rest of it, well, between the bright blue cape and the very blond hair and the Lions posse, he’s also easy enough to spot from a distance.

A week goes by where their only interactions are greetings as they pass each other, always going in different directions. This is, of course, all purposefully done from Claude’s end. Claude is no stranger to avoidance. Running away is easy. He’s been running his whole life, always trying to keep one step ahead of the assassins. There’s no shame in living to fight another day. At some point though, he has to stand his ground.

The experiment must proceed, but in a more controlled environment. It’ll just be the two of them, without outside variables. It can’t be anything too out of the ordinary, either. No penning a fake letter from a secret admirer wishing to meet at the top of the Goddess Tower or anything of the sort. Something like that would probably get discarded or taken for a trap, anyway.

No, there’s only one place they can meet: the library. There’s only one time they can meet: the usual time. That is, on sleepless nights.

Prior to the sauna debacle, this was how they usually met outside of class. Dimitri is investigating something with a fierce single-mindedness, while Claude spends most of his free time poking through _everything_ with insatiable curiosity. They’ve never really said much to each other during those times when their paths crossed, but there’s a companionable atmosphere as they share space in the library. Occasionally there are other students who enter the periphery whether because there’s a project due or they just keep odd hours, but the “Records and Receipts” section is Dimitri’s lair, and the only other person brave or masochistic enough to slough through those driest of books is Claude, whose usual domain (when he isn’t flitting about) is “History” one aisle over.

Dimitri is there again, predictably on schedule. Usually Claude would sit across from him, maybe share a smile before they each return to their own books. Tonight he takes the seat beside His Princeliness, and when met with a questioning look, merely says, “Thought we could use a change of pace.”

This is accepted readily enough. One of the perks of having a reputation for capriciousness is that it’s easy to hide ulterior motives behind the image of just being a random sort of guy. It doesn’t work on everyone because Claude also has a reputation as a trickster – for example, Edelgard would have glared him to death by now – but Dimitri is just so _nice_ like that. He’s trusting to the point where it just about crosses the line into naive. Claude _almost_ feels bad for using him for secret experiments, but it’s not like his actions are _hurting_ Dimitri, right?

After a few minutes of light reading, Claude gets up to return his book to the shelves. He makes a show of sauntering around looking for something else to read. When he finds something suitably interesting, he brings it back to their table and… scoots his chair just a little bit closer to Dimitri.

It takes two more trips and two more subsequent scoots for Dimitri to notice. By this point their elbows are touching.

“Claude…? Is there something I can--”

“Wow, it’s cold tonight, huh?” He goes for it then, just leans into the other boy and pulls the long cape around them both.

Dimitri blinks owlishly. “Oh. I. Hadn’t noticed.”

“Guess it’s ‘cause you run warm. _Lucky_. I’m gonna have to break out the winter gear soon, and we’re not even halfway through autumn.”

“I’m used to much colder,” Dimitri replies. He noticeably relaxes into the touch then, shoulders lowering and muscles loosening as he takes in Claude’s words at face value. Claude can feel it even under the sturdy cloth of their uniforms.

…It’s not making him think of what’s under the uniform. Nope, not thinking of that. Not thinking of how he knows what’s under the uniform. No saunas, no sexy battle scars, no cheese graters. He’s thinking of books. Definitely books and only books. Because it’s a library. People think about books when they’re in libraries.

Claude’s internal stream of consciousness runs along like that as he reads historical accounts of the lives of the saints. Eventually his thoughts wander toward how nice the cuddling feels, which is also perfectly normal behavior. Friends cuddle all the time, especially when it’s cold out… right? Hilda cuddles with everyone in the Golden Deer, so it must be very normal. Nothing out of the ordinary. They’re just two buddies, snuggling to share body warmth. He totally called it when he thought of how Dimitri would give the best winter cuddles, but that isn’t sexual at all. These are _fully clothed_ cuddles.

“You’re tense.” Dimitri’s soft voice startles Claude out of his re-reading of the same paragraph for perhaps the twentieth time. “There’s no need to maintain such proximity to me if it discomfits you. The cape is yours to borrow regardless…”

Well, damn. How did he fuck up cuddles this much? How does Hilda make it look so easy to just slide into anyone’s lap? Even Lysithea doesn’t complain when Hilda sits on her! Dimitri reaches up to unclasp his cape, but before he can do it, Claude has entwined their fingers together.

“No, no, it’s not a problem with _you,_ ” he blurts out. “Sorry, I’m just… actually… this might come as a surprise but… let’s say, not very _experienced_ with being close to, um, people my own age. Who aren’t trying to kill me.” Letting the truth out feels like pulling teeth. If he gets any more honest, he might retch.

“I could tell,” Dimitri says, smiling. How dare.

“Are you calling me _predictable?_ Pour salt in my wound, why don’t you?”

“I’m sorry?” He doesn’t sound sorry at all. That’s the thing about Dimitri – his sass chooses only the worst times to come out, like when Alois dishes out _pun_ ishment, or now when Claude is trying to be heartfelt over here.

Still, the mischievous smile is missed when it leaves as quickly as it came. Dimitri returns to his usual intense self as he continues on to say, “There are many things about you that are a mystery, and I will respect your privacy in those matters. On this matter, however… I grew up roughhousing with friends who were as close as siblings. While it has also been many years since it has become considered improper, according to our social stations, for anyone to treat me with such familiarity, having known both worlds makes it somewhat easier for me to spot someone who has had a lonely childhood.”

It’s stupid. Dimitri’s childhood friends are stupid for letting titles get between them. Anyone would be upset after hearing in Dimitri’s voice how much he clearly misses them. It’s doubly upsetting for Claude, who spent years wishing for just one loyal companion who wasn’t trying to kill or manipulate him. How many times had he thought, if there was just one friend who would love him, he would never let go? If he’d had a friend like Dimitri…

“Well, it’s a good thing you have someone like me here for all your future cuddle needs! Propriety? Pfft, what’s that? I’m here for you, buddy. As long as you don’t mind that I’m a novice, that is.”

(No no no no, what are you saying, Claude? Now is not the time for your mouth to go on autopilot. Did you really sign yourself up for cuddle hell just because you can’t resist sad prince puppy eyes?)

[Uh, excuse you, that’s cuddle _heaven?_ We’ve scored a free heater for the winter, don’t complain.]

(It’s boner hell. Don’t forget about the muscles on this heater.)

[Spending one winter in cuddle-boner purgatory is nothing compared to the potential political gains. This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance! How convenient is it that the future king of Faerghus has been cuddle-abandoned by all his childhood friends? This poor touch-starved boy is just waiting for a handsome future duke to come fill the snuggle-void in his heart and also secure a place as a trusted ally.]

(Please. Don’t kid yourself about being able to focus on political maneuvering. You can’t even look at cheese without thinking of Dimitri anymore.)

[…But _could_ you grate cheese…?]

Dimitri hums in contemplation. “Surely you can’t be as inexperienced with affection as all that,” he says. Having been given permission, he brings his arms loosely around Claude’s waist.

“I’ve hugged my parents, I guess. And wyverns. I’ve snuggled a lot of wyverns. Maybe a horse or two.”

“We should go riding sometime… I’ve always enjoyed… a long ride…”

Dimitri yawns, and then is silent for a long time after. Claude doesn’t notice until it’s too late. He doesn’t notice until Dimitri’s head falls onto his shoulder. The sleepless nights finally caught up to him, and Dimitri has drifted into a deep slumber.

Light taps and shakes don’t wake him. Calling out doesn’t work either. The loose grip around Claude's waist tightens when he tries to get up. And all the while, the warmth and the soothing cadence of his breathing makes it harder and harder for Claude to keep his eyes open.

They’re stuck like that until dawn, when they wake in a tangled ball of limbs. Claude’s face is probably the reddest its ever been as he tries to extricate himself from this mess. It certainly feels hotter than ever, like his blood will erupt out of his cheeks in twin volcanoes.

But at least it’s the result of normal embarrassment and not, well, _sexy_ embarrassment. The plan is working!


	4. The Ride

Dimitri doesn’t forget about offering to go riding together.

They’re in the dining hall. Claude’s archery practice ran late due to Shamir roping him into helping with demonstrations for the new recruits in her care. He made it to the dining hall just before the kitchens stopped serving lunch, and is now hastily shoving bread and soup into his face before afternoon classes. Dimitri, who finished his meal earlier, suddenly pops over to ask him out on a buddy adventure, just the two of them.

“The scenery around the monastery is beautiful. It would be a shame if we didn’t take the chance to fully enjoy it.”

“Without bandits chasing us around, you mean.”

“Right. The cries of the injured and dying are not preferred for relaxation.” He says it in such a dry manner that Claude can’t help but let out an ugly snort-laugh.

Soup does _not_ come spurting out of his nose, thank you very much. But he does choke a little bit, and his voice is huskier than usual when he says, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

It’s true. Everyone knows Claude loves to go riding. That’s literally how he introduced himself to his classmates at the beginning of the school year. “Hi, I’m Claude! I like archery, feasts, and long rides on the beach at sunset!”

Hilda had laughed and proclaimed him a romance novel heroine, and that’s how he knew they were going to be besties.

A half second later Raphael had shouted, “Feasts? Hell yeah!” which was followed by Lysithea’s “There had better be cake!” And that’s how he knew everything was going to be all right.

Unfortunately, no one in his house is interested in hanging out on horseback for a full day. Leonie doesn’t like being unproductive so she only goes riding when there’s a purpose to it, Marianne turned him down due to her own self-esteem issues, and Lorenz is still “spying” on him which would make things awkward if they were alone together. The others didn’t have the necessary skill to go riding for hours. They would want to do other things.

It seems like Dimitri faces a similar problem with his housemates. Of the Blue Lions, the best riders are probably Ingrid and Sylvain. They’re the exact same childhood friends Dimitri just admitted are weirdly deferential to him now. Hours of non-stop “Your Highness” coming from your best friends? Yikes. No wonder he leapt at the chance to go riding with Claude.

They set up a time to meet on the weekend. In the stables, Dimitri goes straight for the personal mount he’d brought from Fhirdiad. She’s a huge mare with a glossy dark coat and light mane – a sturdy northern breed capable of carrying a fully armored knight into battle even in harsh winter conditions. Dimitri butts their foreheads together lovingly, and she returns his affection by nuzzling all over his head and shoulders. It’s obvious they’re eager to see each other.

When he finally notices Claude watching them, he makes introductions. “Oh, this is Dandelion.”

“Cute,” Claude says.

“Isn’t she?” Dimitri’s face is beaming. It’s like seeing Marianne with Dorte.

Speaking of which, Claude promised Marianne he would take Dorte on a nice trek. The old gelding is the calmest and most well-behaved of all the horses owned by the monastery, but he rarely gets taken out by the knights now. He’s in good condition as a training horse, but general consensus among the knights is that Dorte has earned his retirement and should not be put at risk on the battlefield anymore. He should get out once in a while though, especially while the weather is still nice enough for long rides.

They saddle up their mounts and head out the gates. It’s a beautiful day. The sky is the most gorgeous blue dotted with fluffy white clouds. The tall spires of the Oghma Mountains pierce the heavens in the distance while the trees close by rustle softly in the breeze.

Claude and Dimitri chat amiably about their classmates and schoolwork. In between topics of conversation, the comfortable silence is filled with birdsong.

Hours pass at this languid pace, yet much sooner than it feels, the sun rises to its zenith. They find a nice clearing with boulders smooth enough for seating, and here they set out a picnic lunch. It’s just simple traveling food – bread, cheese, jerky, and apples to share with the horses.

After they’ve eaten, Claude gets up to stretch. He ambles off a little ways into the bushes looking for samples of the local flora. While the greenhouse is nice for carefully curated selections of plants, there are so many more varieties that aren’t planted there either because they grow in abundance in the wild, or because they are considered weeds. But weeds have their uses too, and sometimes people take what the common plants can do for granted.

He pushes aside some dry brush to better see what’s growing low to the ground. A quick flicker catches his attention from the right. Claude pursues it, pushing back yet more branches, and…

“Well what have we here? Aren’t you a little beauty?”

It’s a snake. Bright, coppery scales run down its length in patterned bands of darker and lighter shades. It’s likely venomous, judging from the bright coloration. While Claude hasn’t seen the _exact_ same sort of snake before, he has an inkling of what it could be. He’s almost certain he has met its Almyran cousins.

Claude approaches slowly for a closer look, getting on his hands and knees. The snake rears back in warning. And of course that’s when Dimitri stomps by, sees the snake about to attack, and shouts for Claude to get back. That _really_ sets it off. It lunges, quick as lightning, sinking its fangs into Claude’s arm before flickering off into the grass.

Before Claude can get a word in edgewise, Dimitri immediately drops down to the ground. With single-minded purpose, he yanks up Claude’s sleeve to see the two red pinpricks.

“Hey, I know it looks bad, but-- Dimitri?”

Dimitri isn’t listening. He’s… running off to grab medical supplies from the saddlebags. Before Claude can even get up, Dimitri rushes back. His eyes are blown wide and he might be hyperventilating a little even though it was Claude who was bitten.

“C’mon, there’s no need for that. Helloooo? Dimitri, are you in there?”

No response. While holding Claude’s arm with one hand, he grabs a vulnerary with the other and uncorks it with his teeth. He dips a cloth in the healing liquid and swabs it over the wound. The drive he has to help others would be impressive if it were being directed toward something necessary.

“What’s the next step?” he mumbles to himself. “Tourniquet… no…”

“Uh, the next step is to relax. I’m fine. Don’t do something weird like try to suck out the poison.”

“Right. Suck out the poison.”

“ _That’s_ all you heard?!”

It’s too late. Dimitri’s lips descend, wrapping warm and plush over the wound. The unexpected sensation sends Claude shivering. He tries his best to bite back any sounds that threaten to escape as Dimitri _sucks_ on the wound hard enough to leave a mark.

There’s going to be a bruise, but no blood comes out. Really, to suck poison out of a bite, you’re supposed to slice open that area first… And even then, an amateur would just make things worse and cause infections. So it’s a good thing Dimitri’s kind of incompetent at this. Once he realizes it’s not working he’ll stop on his own… right?

Dimitri lets up, letting out a tiny huff of frustration, and then goes back down to try again. Oh, no. Claude really can’t take any more of this. The feel of his lips, the warmth of his breath, the strength of his grip, the intense focus in his eyes…

“Dimitri, stop! It was a dry bite!” Claude _shoves_ , and that’s what finally snaps Dimitri out of it.

“What?”

“There was no venom. It was just a warning bite. I’m not poisoned.” Not snake-poisoned, anyway. This recent infusion of Dimitri-poison was way too strong again. Who knows what might have happened if he hadn’t stopped?

“You’re _sure_.” Both his hands come up to grasp Claude’s shoulders. He leans in way too close and stares directly into Claude’s eyes with a gaze like a roiling tempest.

“Very sure. Even if it wasn’t, that sort of snake isn’t strong enough to kill an adult human. At most it would make someone sick for a few days… Well, regardless, I’m probably immune to it anyways.”

Dimitri frowns again. “ _What?_ ”

“What do you mean, ‘what’?”

“I mean how can you be _immune_ to _snakes_?” He sounds so utterly confounded, it’s adorable. Ah, puppy Dimitri is finally back. All is well. Claude’s shoulders sag in relief.

“Oh, buddy… let me take you on a _journey_.”

Claude is always happy to chat about his experiments. As they head back to the monastery, he blathers on about proper dosages and symptoms to watch out for. It’s nice having someone interested in listening to his ramblings about such a niche interest.

(Strangely, the more he talks about testing poisons on himself, the more worried Dimitri looks.)


	5. The Training Ground

It’s time for the ultimate test: grappling. Shirtless _and_ touching. Shirtless touching.

Now, normally hand-to-hand combat doesn’t _have_ to be a shirtless endeavor, but Claude has been practicing for this by hanging around the training ground with the few students who are really into that. His excuse is that he’s studying a variety of fighting styles and individual combatants in order to better make use of them on the battlefield. That’s also his excuse for getting unnervingly close to the sweaty shirtless guys and clinically examining their muscles. Claude is the best strategist among the house leaders, but the poorest in melee combat. He’s doing this to patch in his weaknesses, and that’s the truth. They just don’t know that Dimitri is also one of those weaknesses.

“Hmm… that is indeed a small gain!” he says, examining the tape measure around Raphael’s enormous bicep. “Zero-point-two centimeters up from last week!”

“Yeaaaaaah!” Raphael roars in triumph.

Behind him, equally shirtless but comparatively tiny, Caspar curses. “Someday I _will_ catch up!” he avows. “What do I need, more protein?”

Claude, the only person still wearing a shirt, shakes his head. “Protein is good and all, but the body can only absorb so much of it. It’s no good if you’re eating until you throw up. Your bones are still growing too, right? Guys in your family don’t tend to be so, uh…” He gestures with his hand, as if patting a child on the head, _short_.

“Oh fuck you, Claude. Fuck you and your totally _average_ height.”

“Hey, is that any way to talk to a rival house’s leader who’s helping you out of the goodness of his heart? I _could_ just help Raphael and leave you in the dust,” he taunts.

Caspar’s face contorts in a scowl that’s about as scary as a hissy kitten. “Get real. You’re just as skinny as I am, and after I get my growth spurt, you’ll be shorter, too!”

Claude shrugs. “Fine then. I’ll just take my data and meal plans elsewhere.”

“Ugh. Good riddance. Your health drinks taste like barf.”

It says something about Caspar’s trusting nature (or stupidity? desperation?) that he was willing to consume, without question, ‘health drinks’ made by Garreg Mach’s number one poison enthusiast in the first place. Despite his irritation at the short jokes, Caspar sticks around. He meanders over to where Raphael is doing stretches by the entrance to the training ground.

Today is a rare day in which no official tournaments are taking place. No one had booked the training grounds for group practice either, so Claude took it upon himself to organize Garreg Mach’s first Unofficial Manly Grapple-Off.

There’s a sign for it and everything. He even got Hilda to do the illustrations this time. She drew a Big Flex Man and a bunch of people swooning. It was great even at that point, but _then_ he took it to Ignatz and commissioned him to shade in the muscles realistically. Now it’s the _greatest_.

Raphael is currently doing stretches by the sign with the Big Flex Man who uncannily resembles him. Caspar joins him. They’re waiting for more people to stop by and sign up for the unofficial tournament which, unlike the official tournaments, will have rules that make sense for grappling as a Friendly Sport for Bonding with Bros. That means separation into three weight classes: ~~tiny~~ Caspar (“Fuck you, Claude”), average, and extra large.

…And shirtlessness. Yes, that is a rule.

The official tournaments are just all-out battles. Everything is allowed short of serious maiming and death. That means grapplers are allowed to choke others with, for instance, dangling scarves and capes if any participants are dumb enough to be wearing such. And that’s why this _friendly_ wrestle-romp should be shirtless to show dedication to fair play. Or that’s how Claude explained it, anyway, and his two co-conspirators are too naive to even realize they’re co-conspirators, never mind figure out that he just bullshitted some reason to further his own agenda.

So there they flex and wait for others to join. No one does.

This, too, goes as Claude predicted.

Sometimes people stop by to take a look, of course, but everything is so awkward and unappealing that they inevitably chuckle nervously and leave.

“Aw, man, I don’t get it,” Raphael says, scratching the back of his head in confusion. “We put up the fliers on the message boards and everything. And I mean, _I_ think this is a great idea…”

Caspar’s brows scrunch up. The deep thinking looks painful for him. “Hmm, well, if you think about it, we’re kind of the only guys in our houses who’re into unarmed combat… right? I mean, the Black Eagles are full of mages, and the Golden Deer tend to focus on ranged stuff. It’s odd enough that we were able to rope Claude into helping, but he’s weird like that… Maybe we should’ve asked the Lions, y’know, personally?”

“Already way ahead of you,” Claude says.

Lo and behold, striding down the path are three members of the Blue Lions, one ~~tiny~~ Caspar-sized, one average (debatable), and one extra large. The rumor mill has finally reached Dimitri with news of the spectacular failure of an amateur tournament taking place at the training grounds, and he has come to save the day like the bleeding-hearted knight in shining armor that he is. Bless this man.

Caspar turns to Claude with nothing but pity on his face. “You’re taking on Dimitri?”

“Yeah? What’s weird about that?”

“Uh-huh. Word is, you got absolutely schooled by Dimitri when you tried to have a muscle-off in the sauna. And then Professor Byleth schooled you both and that’s why the sauna was broken.”

Claude opens his mouth to object, but the only correction he _could_ make would be that he was admiring Dimitri’s muscles rather than trying to compete with him, and that’s just not going to happen. He closes his mouth. Caspar can score a win just this once.

“Hello, fine day isn’t it?” Dimitri offers his painfully stiff and over-rehearsed greeting upon stepping into the training grounds. “My friends and I thought we might give this tournament a shot.”

“Good afternoon,” says Dedue, as placid and stony-faced as ever. If one were to squint, perhaps one could make out a hint of exasperation in his features.

Standing dwarfed by the towering figures of his classmates is Caspar-sized Ashe, big guileless eyes and baby cheeks and all. He waves shyly. “H-hey guys, how’s it going?”

“Oh thank the goddess, I was losing my mind! C’mon Ashe, fight me!”

“W-what? No, wait, I’m not ready! I don’t know what I’m doing!”

Caspar drags poor, shocked Ashe deeper into the training ground and practically strips him, then pounces. Ashe scampers out of the hold and runs away, his squeaks of protest not unlike that of a mouse. The hissy kitten chases the mouse in circles. Everyone pretends this is perfectly normal, which, well… they _have_ seen much stranger things at Garreg Mach.

Dedue’s exasperation goes from nearly imperceptible up to barely perceptible. Still, he nods to Raphael who, grinning, slaps him on the back continuously as they walk to an unoccupied area. As the only students remotely even belonging to the same weight class, they’ve been paired with each other for exercises before.

The two house leaders are left to survey all of this. Dimitri doesn’t know what he’s seeing. Claude, hands on hips, takes in the sight of the chaotic glory he has wrought and puffs out his chest in pride.

“All right, Your Princeliness, off with the shirt.”

“Excuse me?”

Claude whips his own shirt off and widens his stance in the way Raphael has coached him. Ignoring the chill air of early winter that makes him shiver, he holds out a hand to Dimitri, inviting the other man to engage. “Strip. Let’s wrestle.”

Dimitri’s eyes go wide. They dart everywhere, going from Claude’s half-naked form to the big guys genuinely brawling, then to Caspar finally leaping upon his squirming prey. His gaze lingers on the Hilda-and-Ignatz collaboration sign, and there he sees that indeed it does say under rules: no shirts. Eventually he makes his way back to Claude, who’s waiting on him with a bubbling mixture of patience and anticipation. Dimitri might be unnecessarily self-conscious about his looks, but even more than he hates being seen out of his clothes, he _cannot_ stand disappointing his friends. Cheeks pink, but moderately satisfied that no one here will stare at his scars, he gingerly begins taking his shirt off.

“Dimitri wins!” Caspar shouts as soon as Dimitri’s shirt rises over the cheese grater abs. He stomps back over, pulling Ashe behind him yet again, pouting and unsatisfied with how quickly his own match ended. Ashe, meanwhile, is panting and shaking like he’s _seen_ things. Or, perhaps, is now being forced to level up his brawling ability in order to be a proper rival.

“Hey!” Claude protests. “Who’s been making your meal plans and supplements for weeks? Have some _loyalty_. You can’t just call it so quickly!”

“I’m not a member of your house, your potions taste like barf, and Dimitri’s _way_ more ripped than you!” Then, appreciatively looking Dimitri up and down, he says, “Dang, you gotta give me some tips!”

“Um…” says Dimitri. He’s clearly uncomfortable with this level of outright appraisal.

Claude huffs. He has to get things back on track. “If you’re gonna watch, make yourself useful and referee for us, yeah?” Turning to Dimitri, he winks. “Don’t worry about anything else, just focus on me.”

“Right.” Dimitri nods, calming down and settling into a combat stance as well.

Claude finds that he is perfectly prepared for this. When Caspar calls for the match to begin, he slams into Dimitri’s solid chest, nearly knocking them both over. His hands roam everywhere, trying to get a good grip so he can throw his opponent and secure a victory.

And that’s just it – Dimitri’s hotness is the opponent in this moment. They’re sparring seriously. Claude was able to work himself up for this by thinking of defeating his unwanted sexual attraction, and it’s _working_. Yes, Dimitri’s muscles are still unfairly defined and really nice to the touch. Yes, it’s sexy as all hell that Dimitri is obviously holding back his natural strength so that he doesn’t crush Claude…

But the voice inside that says “please crush me” can _shut up_! Dimitri is so much more than that! He’s a good friend, and a good person, and he doesn’t deserve to be ogled like he’s just a piece of meat!

With a thud, Claude’s back hits the dirt.

He lost the wrestling match, as expected.

He gazes up at the clear blue sky, dazed. Dimitri’s face comes into view, hovering above him, concerned.

“Are you all right?”

“Yup. Just give me a minute to catch my breath.”

“You’re sure?” Dimitri runs his hands along Claude’s shoulders and sides, checking for bruises and sore spots. “I don’t know if your estimation of your own injuries lines up with everyone else’s since you think lethal poisonings are _normal_.”

“Not _lethal_ ones,” Claude corrects. “Those would be assassinations.”

“Mild ones, then. You think mildly poisoning yourself is a hobby.”

Not _just_ a hobby, he thinks but doesn’t say. It’s a defense. Claude doesn’t play with any poisons he doesn’t think he can recover from. And there _are_ poisons like that. Not the super lethal ones that can kill a wyvern with one drop, no. Yes, you _can_ gain a resistance to them through slowly administering careful doses over time. But they’re still dangerous in other ways.

Arsenic is perhaps the best known example. It has long been favored by assassins posing as medical professionals. It’s good for killing someone over a long period of time. The victim gains resistance, but at the same time, purifying the poison has such a taxing effect on the body that it leads indirectly to many other illnesses. People who consume low doses of arsenic over a long period of time don’t tend to die of the acute symptoms of arsenic poisoning – there are no sudden convulsions and fainting. Rather, they pass away years and years later of mysterious heart problems or deep infections spreading through skin lesions that just could not be treated. That is how the false doctors are often able to get away with their kills.

Dimitri is like arsenic, Claude realizes belatedly. His careful touch makes Claude feel all warm inside like it has been doing for months now. But it’s also different. It feels more like the embarrassment-warmth of the library incident, but without the embarrassment. His chest flutters. There’s a heat in his belly like with sexual arousal, but it’s gentler and it aches, too.

This, Claude knows, is a sign that the Dimitri poisoning has gone terminal. It has morphed into another illness that cannot be cured even if the source of the poison were to be removed.

Lying there in the dirt of the training ground, Claude can hear, distantly, Caspar whining about how he’s being overly dramatic. He can hear the grunts of Raphael and Dedue still seriously practicing their craft. He lets himself stare up at the sky for just a moment longer. Just one more minute with his newfound secret before he hoards it with all the others locked deep inside his heart.

The sky is the color of Dimitri’s eyes.

He _doesn’t_ have a crush on Dimitri.

It’s not just a crush anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Afterward, Claude offers his health drinks as prizes for the winners. They're made with, like, raw eggs, steamed chicken breast, bitter greens, and a bunch of spices all ground up together. Everything is mixed only with their nutritional properties in mind, no regard for taste. Dimitri downs his and says, "Delicious!" much to the shock and horror of everyone around. 
> 
> Claude finally understands what it means to feel _concerned_ because this poor boy needs his protection!! He can't even taste poisons!!!!!!!


	6. Five Years Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here, folks. We've finally reached the hot tub. Now the tag makes sense, eyyyy.

Derdriu is beautiful even after battle. It really is a shame they couldn’t visit under better circumstances. The feast – and of course there’s a feast, it’s Claude after all – for all that it’s rushed, is the most luxurious meal the Faerghus army has had in months, perhaps years. It’s certainly more food than Dimitri has seen since his academy days.

As guests of honor they’re invited into the castle proper, but the celebration extends throughout the city’s taverns and alehouses as well. Bonfires have even sprung up at the docks and along the beaches, with pits dug in the sand that the fishermen use to steam their catch. Inside the castle, the kitchen staff have no time for elaborate recipes, but the quality and variety of the ingredients more than makes up for it.

There are meats of all kinds, simply roasted and served with buttered vegetables. Piles of seafood are heaped high, shells glimmering like jewels. Though all the bread is a day old, it’s still perfectly good for sopping up a variety of sauces from honey-sweet to richly spiced. There are fruits, too, in a rainbow of colors! Fresh, dried, candied, made into jams or laid atop delicate custard tarts…

The sights and smells are delightful, if a bit overwhelming. A lot of the seafood textures are new for Dimitri too, or at least the memory of them is buried so far back in his childhood that he can’t exactly be sure he’s ever had these dishes before. He accepts everything his friends pile onto his plate and tries his best to remember how to dine like a civilized person and not like a beast. He thinks he mostly passes, if only because so many others get drunk and rowdy as the night goes on.

In the center of all this revelry is Claude. He had stripped off the more cumbersome parts of his armor after the battle, but refused to take the time to fully bathe or change outfits when there was so much last minute feast planning to be done. Claude had never been _vain_ , exactly, but he had always taken care with his physical appearance. If anything, Dimitri would have thought being the highly visible leader of a nation would make him more prideful of his good looks.

Instead, he became so excited at the thought of celebrations and showing gratitude that he pushed aside all thoughts of himself. Currently, Claude is moving throughout the entire banquet hall, checking in on all the tables to make sure everyone is enjoying themselves. He snatches bites of recommended dishes here and there, and cracks jokes with all his soldiers regardless of rank. He pours drinks for them, too. Such an act would be unthinkable for other sovereigns, yet here no one bats an eye when he calls for a bottle of the finest wine from his own private cellars and uses it to fill a young squire’s goblet to overflowing. Everyone seems to agree with this unspoken fact: their duke is a magnanimous leader who commands absolute loyalty not through fear or divine right, but because he gives it back to his people in turn. He _cares_ for them, not just because it’s his duty as their liege lord, but because he sees them as individuals and knows their lives have worth.

It’s so admirable, so… _attractive_ in every way. Dimitri’s gaze is helplessly drawn to him as he makes the rounds. Every time he thinks he can look away, he catches Claude glancing back, ready to throw a wink or a smile his way.

He wonders, was he able to read Claude correctly? Is it just wishful thinking? He’d failed so miserably with Edelgard… But he wants so badly for this Claude to be real, for the kind boy he knew to have grown into this golden-hearted man.

The Claude of five years ago was a gifted student who excelled in all fields of study. His strategies were as unconventional as they were, in the grand scheme of things, ultimately seeking solutions as humane as possible when it came to war games. He had a mind like a maze, and he was like that outside of battle as well. An example of such was how he crept closer and closer to Dimitri until they fell so naturally into a romantic relationship without a single word being said to establish it. One day Claude was a somewhat exasperating acquaintance, the next they were friends struggling to bridge cultural rifts, and suddenly they were cuddling during study dates and Claude had wriggled his way into the ranks of the few people Dimitri would defend with his life.

He never figured out what Claude was after with that stunt, if he was trying to establish a political connection or just a personal one. Was it meant to lead to formal courtship? Was it meant to be a guilty secret? At the height of it, he’d thought for sure they were courting, but never got up the guts to confirm it…

But it’s been years since then. They have years of madness and war between them, not to mention Dimitri having been presumed dead for most of it. What hope is there that a short-lived teenage dalliance that never got past hugs and hand holding could have survived? Dimitri was too consumed by bloodlust and misery to seek out any lovers, but _Claude_ would have had no shortage of suitors. There’s no hope for Dimitri as he is now, covered in the marks of five years of hard living and bearing the mental scars as well.

Still, looking at Claude grips his heart with a sense of yearning.

…He pours more wine into the void. And stuffs it full of shrimp and garlic butter for good measure.

Eventually the celebration peters out, at least in the castle. Some people have retired, and others have taken their partying out into the streets where their laughter intertwines with that of the civilians. The activity outside is audible as a dull roar now that nearly everyone has cleared out.

“Shall I accompany you, Your Highness?” Dedue asks.

Dimitri gets up, wobbling only very slightly, and waves him off. “No need. Go enjoy yourself. I’m off to find a place to bathe and then I’ll turn in for the night.”

Dedue, however, is reluctant to leave him alone in this state. “Some of the others headed toward the public baths. We could join them.”

Dimitri had also heard them say as much over dinner. Apparently, the baths in Derdriu are famous for their architecture. The bathing culture is also said to be much more intricate than what they’re used to in Faerghus. He wouldn’t mind seeing the baths, but he’s not sure if he wants to deal with a crowd at the moment.

As he’s mulling over his choices, a hand comes to rest on his shoulder.

“You know I have a private bath?”

It’s Claude, of course. Inviting him into… his room? What does that _mean_?

After a moment of stupor, Dimitri shakes his head. “I wouldn’t want to impose on your private quarters. The guest rooms you’ve provided us are more than enough.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean just a bath _room_ , though of course there’s that as well. I meant a bath _house_. There’s a private bathhouse for the Riegan family near the back gardens. It’s just like the public one, but smaller. Cozier, I should say. But rest assured, it’ll be just as exotic and luxurious to your Faerghan sensibilities, and I’ll be your personal guide through the whole ritual of it.” He winks. It’s too charming up close. He shouldn’t be allowed to do that.

“I consider a full bar of soap a luxury these days,” Dimitri mumbles.

“And that’s unacceptable.” As he says it, Claude is already steering Dimitri out of the banquet hall by the shoulders.

They exit into the garden where it’s quiet, and walk along the path until they reach a multi-domed structure somewhat reminiscent of the sauna at Garreg Mach. Inside, however, it’s a different story. The walls are as opulent as any in Derdriu castle, and there’s even a _fountain_. The crescent moon motif is everywhere. Everything is lined in gold accents. He has no idea where to look when everything is beautiful, not least of all Claude himself.

Dimitri follows Claude in a daze. They strip down to their smalls before heading into the _first_ bathing room. It’s all very complicated, from what he picks up. He tries to pay attention as Claude explains, in between dumping buckets of water on themselves, why there are so many rooms with different temperatures of water and steam, he really does, but the domes above the rooms are pierced with stars that let in the moonlight. It falls gently over the lines of Claude’s body, drops of water glinting as they slide off the waves of his hair and down into the hollows of his collarbones. Walking behind Claude, his eye is drawn to the way the droplets follow the curve of Claude’s back and down to the base of his spine.

Claude hasn’t grown a single inch since their academy days. Not vertically, anyway. He has, however, filled out very nicely in other ways. Very… distracting… ways…

His thighs are… very nice. Uh, strong. Yes, strong from r-riding…

No. Stop. Those thoughts are unacceptable. They are a stain on the pure and _chaste_ romance they once shared!

Finally they come to a room hot enough that the steam rising from the water obscures his vision. There’s a pool in the center that Claude happily sinks into.

“Aaah~ that feels so good! I always want to stay here until I’m pruney. How about you? Can you handle the heat?”

No, he cannot. Absolutely not. Not with Claude moaning like that and throwing playful glances that his addled mind wants to interpret as sexual invitation. _Which it is clearly not!!_

Dimitri gets into the water anyway. It’s way too hot. “Only a few minutes,” he grumbles.

The pool is quite spacious. It would be rude to sit all the way on the other side, but he doesn’t want to seem like he has lecherous designs on Claude, either. He settles for… about five feet apart. It seems like a good distance. They can both do their own thing, hidden by the steam, and-- Why is Claude coming closer?!

“Been a long time since we could hang out like this, huh?”

“Mn.”

“Reminds me of that time in the sauna. Hope no one’s locked us in!”

“Ha… ha.” He tries to laugh. It comes out very strangely.

Claude frowns a bit then. “Are you already at your limit? Step out for a moment then, and let me soap you up.”

No, goddess, no! He does feel lightheaded. Rather dizzy, actually. Whether it’s from the wine or the heat, he can’t tell. The proximity to Claude isn’t helping at all. Actually, that’s the main culprit. That, and the thought of Claude’s plush ass sitting on Dimitri as they lather soap all over each other--

 _Why_ is he having such beastly thoughts?!

Something in Dimitri snaps. The wine, the heat, and Claude…

He turns to face Claude, presses him against the side of the pool and cups a hand around his cheek, stroking the beard with his thumb. His other hand comes to rest on Claude’s elbow. And he speaks softly so that his voice won’t echo across the tiles of this chamber.

“Claude. Are you giving me leave to continue our courtship? To go further? Please, I must know if there is any hope for me at all.”

Claude’s eyes widen. He seems shocked, but makes no move to break free of Dimitri’s hold. “Continue…?”

Whatever is said next, Dimitri doesn’t hear. He passes out from heat exhaustion.

* * *

He wakes up in a bed. It’s a nice bed in a nice guest room, and he’s wearing nice pajamas. He’s in Derdriu castle. He can tell because the ceiling is covered in prancing deer made of gold leaf. Derdriu castle is the only place something so ostentatious could be the first thing he sees upon waking.

As the events of the previous evening rush back, Dimitri smacks both palms over his face.

“I’m an idiot.”

He feels the bed dip then, as if there were another occupant who had just turned over on their side.

As a matter of fact, there is. Claude isn’t content with just turning to face Dimitri, however. He rolls _onto_ Dimitri and pulls down his palms so they can meet eye to eye.

“So am I,” he says. “Let me tell you about the time I thought I was using you as a science experiment. Apparently I was courting you instead.”


End file.
